


You're George-ous

by asdfghjkl_pudding



Series: The Gay Founding Fathers of Canada [1]
Category: Canadian History RPF
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, George is done with his shit, Infidelity, Its implied, John is a Drunk, M/M, im sorry, their ship name is macartier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:54:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8215525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdfghjkl_pudding/pseuds/asdfghjkl_pudding
Summary: John goes out drinking after a long day at work, George like all good boyfriends, goes out to find him.I was dared to write this and I don't back down from anything. This is also the first fanfiction I have posted on this god forsaken site. Forgive me.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [schnorkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/schnorkie/gifts).



To say George was less than impressed was an understatement in the least. He has been searching for the past 3 hours for his most assuredly drunk friend with no success after his wife sent a letter to him detailing her concern for her husband's absence. Really, George had better things to do (a lie) then finding the filthy alcoholic (with starry eyes, soft hair and a mouth that would send a whore to church) but here he was entering the 19th bar of the night after being sent on a horrible goose chase from parlor to parlor. And so it turns out, bar number 19 would be the lucky one, that’s what they say, isn’t it? Lucky number 19?

Honestly, George had to give it to John, it’s truly impressive how many empty bottles a man can haphazardly throw on a table and not have them all fall off, a skill George is sure, took years of hard training to master. As of now John somehow has managed to balance 21 bottles on the table, a new record to be sure. After a second more of just watching he decided to get this fucking train wreck on the road. It was late, cold and his friends drunken stupor seemed to be lowering the IQ of the remarkably already dim establishment judging from the sailor shanties being sang in different off key tones that, only the stupidly drunk seem to be able to muster.  


“Hello, John, enjoying yourself tonight, I see?” John to his credit seem to grow more alert at his voice, blinking blearily and swaying in spot as he peered up at him (through those thicc fucking eyelashes, goddamnit stop staring at him like that, JOHN!) before lurching forward and give a happy cry of recognition.  


“My darling, George! What are you doing here? Well, nevermind, sit! Sit! Drink!” John began speaking with the enthusiasm of those who are now on their 22nd drink, do anything, loudly and with vigor that sends them swaying harder than Jesus on a rubber cross.  


George was quick to reach out and grab his friend’s arm, taking some time to explain to him that, “No, Goddamnit, John, he was not sitting down, stop shoving that drink into his hand, he wasn’t interest--- Wait was that champagne?-- No nevermind, they were leaving” and after wrestling with his stupid coat for what seemed like an hour, he was finally able to shove the Macdonald out of the bar only to find to his fucking luck, of course, that mother nature, that bitch, had decided to truly piss on his last fucking nerve with rain. 

Hard rain. Cold, hard, gross rain.  


God fucking damnit.  


Here George, was now, wet, cold, and pissed off as his drunk ass best friend (and lover but let’s not think about that now) hangs off his shoulder like it’s a fucking jungle gym. But, that’s fine, who wants to be be warm in bed at 1:00 in the morning anyways? They slowly make their trek back up the street towards George’s apartment building where they would both be able to sleep the night.  


Of course however, he was with John Macdonald and if there wasn’t one thing John loved more than alcohol (and maybe George) it was the sound of his own goddamn fucking voice.  


“Has anyone ever told you George,” Johns Scottish lilt capturing his voice, “that you are fucking George-ous? Get it George? It’s your name! Your pretty” Johns train of thought continued along this train for quite a few kilometers, and of course he had to vocalize all of it.  


Jesus christ, what a fucking idiot.  


It’s a shame he loved that man for all that he was worth (way too much if you ask George). But now they were finally reaching his apartment because thank fuck, he didn't think his head could take anymore for Johns stupid fucking flirting (It’s a lie he could listen to it all day).  


George fumble to get his key in the lock with numb fingers (and by God what he would give to see John sucking them with his filthy mouth) and quickly led them in. The door was closed and John had his lips on his. A throaty breathless noise (No, it was NOT a moan, thank you very much!) escaped George’s lips, before shoving John off of him.  


“Bed now, John,” he commanded the younger man. 

John lurched towards the bed with the stability of a leaf in a hurricane and threw himself across it, letting his long limbs sprawl across the surface. George leaned forward knees bracing against the edge of the bed, while loosening his too tight cravat. His hand ran up john’s thigh, and wait? He was asleep? Sonofabitch left him blue-balled again, and took up his entire bed?  


A ragged sigh escaped his lips as he adjusted so that he was instead sitting on the edge of the bed that John, that fucker, had decided to hold hostage. Really, what did he do to deserve this sort of treatment? He was a good man (maybe not THAT good), he went to church (especially after he committed adultery against his wife with another MAN), but alas here he was.  


His knees cracked as he brought himself up, and began to work John’s shoes off his feet and the wet clothes that were plastered to his body. He laid a soft kiss to John’s head with a whispered promise of petty revenge in the morning.  


(And he most certainly did NOT hit the asshole with his extra pillow as he made his way out to the hard couch in the living room. No he most certainly did not as George, was most certainly above being petty (he was not.))


End file.
